where i am red
and you are yellowand when we meet
we set ourselves on fire.

Hunger

by bino a. realuyo (2003)

this poem must be written now, on this hour,
this one sitting, the sudden rush of thought -- of you.

you again: my charcoal drawings in the air,
dance of limbs, not seen but smelled,

images forming from a verge of thought --
a scent of another sunday full of longing for food.

to eat breakfast, alone, and to know that i
have cooked for you once: eggs, pancakes, honey,

that i have eaten not only what i made but
also you; you, tasting better each time i swallowed.

your taste, a disappearing act, the fear of knowing
that you will be yesterday's dish, a name in a book

of the forgotten, the silent partner that ate off my plate,
the one who watched me cook, naked in hunger.

live poem

by anna bernaldo (2003)

"love is always a choice," my mother always says,
but this time her spatula did not point
pragmatically in my direction.
it stirred silence on the boiling broth,
ripples matching the excited rhythm
of the tv sports abchor's voice
in a basketball game my father is watching.

now that i'm older, i'm forced to reconsider
you and my fixation on the addams couple
as our role models forever.
one always hungry for the other.

i never listened to my mother,
but everyday i see her.
and i'm older and love must be domestic,
responsible, sensible as a haircut in summer.

is it possible for us to make something more
out of what we are about to have?
of course, you do not know.
even i do not know.
why did i even begin asking questions?

i just wanted to write you a love poem
but i can only live one for you.